Love Burned to a Crisp

At the Davenport family dinner, I arrive wearing the same dress Tucker Davenport's true love once wore.

His face darkens immediately. He glares at me coldly and orders that my dress be burned on the spot.

"Damn it, Willow, can't you show a little self-awareness? Shelby might be too naive to notice, but there's no way I'm letting you appear like this in front of her."

The intense heat rushes toward me as the flames consume the fabric. A sharp, burning pain shoots between my legs, crashing over me like a tidal wave.

The pain drags me under, but I suddenly jolt awake, barely able to gasp a plea for mercy.

Tucker doesn't spare me a glance. He simply turns away to help Shelby cut the cake.

Days later, he finally remembers I exist.

"As long as you behave and don't bother Shelby again, you'll still be Mrs. Davenport."

I stare at the burns on my legs as my tears dry up. I refuse to beg any longer.

I'm done being Mrs. Davenport.

Tucker Davenport casually dropped a gift box onto the couch. A half-hearted smile was playing on his lips.

"I'll admit, I was a bit harsh this time. Consider these shoes my apology. They're the latest model."

I looked down at the high heels inside. The smooth leather and sharp stiletto heels caught the light. They shone with a cold, distant gleam.

My legs still ached faintly, which only made the gift feel more ironic.

The shoes were clearly a size too big, yet he insisted they were "specially chosen for me".

When I didn't reach for them, Tucker's expression tightened for a moment. Impatience flickered in his eyes.

"I've already apologized. What else do you want? Even Shelby didn't make a big deal of it, and here you are acting like some spoiled princess. Stop making such a fuss."

My chest tightened. It felt like something was caught in my airways. I drew in a slow breath, trying to keep my voice even. "I wasn't trying to imitate her. The dress was—"

"Are you still going to make excuses?"

Tucker cut me off with a cold, mocking laugh. His voice was dripping with disdain.

"I know exactly what you're up to. You're just trying to imitate Shelby with these pathetic games. Look at yourself. You're nothing but a cheap knockoff."

His scornful gaze hit me like a knife, freezing me in place.

My fingers trembled at my sides. The heels were resting in my lap like a heavy weight of shame.

"If you're not going to wear them," Tucker said sharply, "then give them to Shelby yourself. That can be your apology."

He slid the shoes toward me with quiet contempt, as though my hesitation merely proved my ingratitude.

"Shelby's always been kind enough to overlook your little games," he added. His tone was sharp and unforgiving. "She won't hold it against you."

Those elegant heels now felt like sharp knives digging into my heart.

Every burn